Affected
by CheekyBrunette
Summary: Because when someone tells you a story like that, there's no way you won't end up affected.


**Okay, I don't know where this came from, but whatever. I felt James/angsty so this was what happened. (You'll note how it's still all about Logan. Sigh… I can't get out of my comfort zone…) **

**You know who did this to me? Clarry. This is her fault. If she wasn't the most amazing Jagan writer ever (Haha, well one of them…) I wouldn't have this problem right now.**

**Um… sort of imagined this as how James reacted after he sort of lifted Logan's shirt up in Halfway There… not really necessary to think of it that way though… It's just… yeah. Whatever. In case you were wondering.**

James' Buster Clyde's pounded against the pavement, his feet growing heavier as he ran harder, harder, harder, faster, faster, faster, until he was _away._ His brain hadn't worked out what had just happened, but his body sure had, sprinting away from what he had just heard. His heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest as he ducked around the corner, mind whirling. He couldn't breathe, but that didn't stop him. James kept ducking down alley after alley as he lost himself in the tangled streets of Los Angles.

_Anywhere but there_, he told himself, and it suddenly felt like his brain had ran into a wall. His feet stopped abruptly with it, and he brought a shaky hand to his face. James forgot all about his panting as what Logan had just told him finally washed over his thoughts. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't think. There were just scars.

Scrapes and cuts littered the alleyway around him, standing out vividly against the pale skin that wasn't there. Ripping, tearing, slashing, snagging through his friend, his _Logan_.

James fell to his knees, vomiting on the sun-baked pavement. He crawled away, too terrorized to even stand. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and it took everything in his will power not to rip it out and throw it against the roasting brick wall across from him. He didn't want people. People were the problem. Without people, Logan wouldn't have been hurt. James' jaw quivered dangerously, and his teeth chattered. A broken sob somehow wormed its way out of him.

It wasn't long before he erupted into inevitable tears. This was bad, this was oh so bad. James wiped frantically at his wet eyes, but they just leaked all over his hands, soaking them just like his cheeks. His shoulders heaved, his chest constricted, his mind blanked. There was only him and the desire to hold his Logie again and make everything alright left in the alley, and that's all there would be for quite a while. Wails reverberated off the buildings encasing him, echoing out into the side streets to the left and right. They fell on deaf ears. The sun was coming down hard, wrapping him in a film of sticky sweat, but he didn't notice its burn on his shoulders.

He replayed everything that had happened in his mind for what seemed like the millionth time, and his stomach did a nasty flip, almost sending him spewing on the ground again. The more vivid words of the conversation crawled through his head. _Dad. Hit. Abused. Cut. Whipped. Kicked. Hate. Love. Want. Hurt. Die. Pain. Punched. Bruised. Broken. Bled. Dad. ABUSED, ABUSED, ABUSED!_ He screamed internally, insanity creeping over him. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle of thinking about Logan like that. So small and… hurt.

It was wrong.

Years and years of taking care of Logan, protecting him to the point where they'd freak out if there was a speck of dirt on him. Bully after bully they had beaten up, only to discover just yesterday that the biggest threat in Logan's life was the guy who brought them to their first hockey practice.

Yeah. Yesterday. And _yesterday_, it had been fine. It had been a shock, but it had been_ fine_. Heck, an hour ago it had been fine. He couldn't tell you when exactly it was, but something in his brain just snapped, telling him to move. He couldn't process it, he still couldn't, but James had known there was no way to turn down the instinct to run that came with the terror that had swept over him.

He continued to cry, but his body slowed down, each shudder and sob straining each muscle of his body. Struggling to wipe his nose on his sodden knee, he realized how tired he was, emotionally and physically. Everything ached, from his heart to his limbs, but that couldn't quell his fierce emotions. James wasn't sure anything could. All he knew was that he just wanted to keep crying and crying until he eroded into the ground. His Logan. _His Logan._

Gosh, where had he _been_? James was supposed to be there. How long had he just let Logan hurt like that? How long had Logan got to practice early to change in the locker room before anyone got there and he had never questioned? How long did he wake up screaming with nightmares before he was enough out of his deep sleep to hear them? How long was Logan in pain? Questions raced through his head, all shouting for answers, but that was just it. They were just questions. He didn't know anything, and he _hadn't_ known anything. It was tearing him apart.

Everything was happening very suddenly and very fast. It was crazy how quickly this fear had captured him, and it was scary how instantly it was working its way out of him through what felt like possession. James felt like he didn't even _own_ his body anymore as raw emotion sent him quivering harder into the brick behind him. Terror violated him.

It was blind. Every feeling that pulsed through him was an unseeing energy that sparked through him and sent him deeper into whatever the heck he was falling into. This wasn't what depression felt like. This wasn't what anger felt like. This isn't what sanity felt like. What James was feeling was nothing more than numbing, consuming, controlling vulnerability. He was ripped open and being shown piece for piece to the world. Everyone could see him, despite the emptiness of the alleyway. Everyone.

This wasn't about him. James knew that. He didn't understand why he felt like this in any form of the word, but how could he not? Everything he had seen, everything he had heard… you don't just take that and go on with everyday life. This was hitting, this was intense. This was something that James couldn't shake, and he didn't have a prayer to.

He wanted Logan safe. He wanted him with him, tucked up in this little street, pressed between two abandon buildings in the bad side of town. This was alone; this is what safe felt like. He would keep him there forever with him. They would starve, they would be filthy, but they would be _safe. _Safe, safe, safe, safe. The only word ringing in James ears.

But Logan would say no. Logan was smart, he knew they would die like that, holing up in an alley and never leaving for anything. James was smart enough to know that that's what Logan would say, and he kept his phone in his pocket, not daring to call Logan with his ridiculous idea, no matter how right it felt.

James was exposed. He didn't know as what, and he didn't know by whom. He just… was.

James was effected.

**Okay, so for the record, in Halfway There, I have sort of a half-willed plan to make James like "BAM" protective. So… yeah. But this was fun to write. Sorry to all of you out there who want to strangle me. I sort of know this leaves more questions than answers, but… I like it like that. It's just a clip.**

**I feel artistic.**

**FACT: pecans aren't nuts. They're drupes. **


End file.
